


time, just time

by narcomanic



Category: Oxenfree, The Black Tapes Podcast
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-24
Updated: 2016-01-24
Packaged: 2018-05-15 23:19:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5804197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/narcomanic/pseuds/narcomanic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even almost twenty years later, the events of Edwards Island haven't quite left Alex Reagan alone.</p><p>(Crossover between The Black Tapes Podcast and Oxenfree.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	time, just time

**Author's Note:**

> Based on my headcanoning of the two Alexes as the same person. Includes some spoilers for Oxenfree's endings!

  
The lunch place they'd chosen was a bit more on the chic side than either of them would prefer; there were a lot of busy-looking young people with sleek laptops while the two of them ended up squeezed together on a minimalist table by the windows. But Strand's conference had run later than expected and they'd only barely caught the tail end of the lunch rush, so they couldn't exactly complain.

“Yet you didn't study psychology?” Strand asked her after they'd spent a comfortable ten minutes discussing the origination of false memories, one of the topics of his conference. “Even though you seem so interested?”

Alex swallowed her mouthful of organic juice and shook her head. “No? I mean, it's definitely interesting, but it was never something I considered for a living. Journalism, for sure. That or, well... engineering?”

Strand raised an eyebrow. “That's quite an interesting range in careers. All right, why not engineering?”

Alex smiled absently, tracing the rim of her glass. “If you really want to know... My brother was going to do engineering and, and this is going to sound stupid but...” She sighed. “I didn't want to be the little sister copying everything big bro did, you know?”

Strand was silent for a moment and then said, “I don't remember you mentioning a brother before.”

Alex paused. “Really? Oh, well, he's...” _Definitely alive, never been dead, never drowned and then un-drowned after a year spent mourning him._ “...doing sports medicine, now, in Vancouver.”

“Sports and exercise medicine, huh. So, you abandoned your dream in engineering for nothing?”

Alex made a sound of indignation at Strand's tone and held up her hands. “I didn't abandon anything! I _chose_ journalism, okay, because that's what I enjoyed doing.” She looked at Strand and his damn-him-to-hell know-it-all smile. “Fine, laugh it up, sure. I don't regret it, I'm a damn good journalist.”

“Never said you weren't,” Strand said. It wasn't the first time he'd handed her a compliment, however indirectly, but it never failed to make her smile. Which is what she was still doing when he went on: “So why radio, specifically? Why not television or online, something less...”

“Less, what?” she said, with a feeling she knew exactly what he meant.

“Well.” Strand looked up from his plate and gave her a meaningful look, but Alex pointed her fork at him before he could go any further.

“Ah-ah, you still read your newspaper in actual paper form, so excuse me if I don't think you have much of a high horse to stand on here.”

Strand dipped his head in acknowledgment. “Fair enough,” he conceded. There was a beat of silence and then, “But. Why radio, exactly?”

Alex poked at her food. “I don't know, I've... always liked radio? My uncle, my mom's brother, he did ham radio, so he taught me about sidebands, phase modulation, frequency hopping...” She happened to look back up at Strand, whose face had frozen on a polite half-smile. “I'm losing you, aren't I?”

“Well, I'm starting to understand why engineering was your second career choice,” he remarked.

“You didn't have that one uncle or, I don't know, weird family acquaintance who pulled you aside to teach you how to work a two-way radio?” she asked. Strand laughed and ran a hand through his hair.

“I might have disassembled an old radio of my father's, possibly much to his dislike, but once I understood how it worked, it didn't hold much more interest for me.”

 _Which really explains a lot, doesn't it,_ Alex thought. Strand was looking at her with mild suspicion.

“What?” he asked.

“Nothing,” she said quickly and stuffed a forkful of noodles in her mouth. Strand drew in a deep breath but, in the end, decided to drop the subject.

Alex chewed on her mouthful in thought and then asked, “Aren't radios kind of a big part in paranormal incidents, though? Anomalous transmissions and such?”

“Allegedly anomalous transmissions,” Strand corrected her almost on reflex. “Yes, there has been a number of cases involving supposedly unexplainable radio phenomena, but our institute has several experts to call upon when a case requires more than the basic mechanical understanding of radio technology.”

“Such as?” she asked.

“More often than not it's a simple prank, kids scaring each other with pre-recorded messages and such,” Strand said, shrugging. “Occasionally someone less informed on the function and existence of number stations waxing hysterical about secret transmissions or alien messages.”

“Oh, wow, that reminds me,” Alex said, waving her fork. “I had this friend in high school who was obsessed with number stations, conspiracy theories, all that. In retrospect, he would've loved our podcast.” She smiled in reminiscence. “Shame we lost contact, he had this... weird obsession with, what was it? He claimed it was possible to tune into radio stations that don't exist, if you just found the right coordinates.”

Strand's face bore an expression of a polite mix between amused and interested. “And what, exactly, did that entail?”

“I, uh...” Alex began, then trailed off, blinking. Now that she thought about that night again, almost twenty years later, it all came back with uncomfortable clarity. Ghosts who spoke with the voice of a multitude and walked around in her body. Tall shadows with glowing eyes who treated them like dolls with childlike cruelty. Drowning, un-drowning, dying, undying, over and over again.

_It'll be a great honor to carry us through this life, Alex._

She swallowed to wet her suddenly dry throat. “You know, I'm not entirely sure anymore. We did get phenomenally drunk that night,” she finally said.

Strand huffed out a laugh and turned back to his food. “Oh, to be young again,” he said with a touch more sarcasm than was entirely warranted. Alex rolled her eyes and reached for her glass, about to say something when her eyes fell on the remarkably ugly designer lamp by their table. As she watched, its light blurred to a red hue and flickered almost imperceptibly before returning to normal. What was left of her hunger was replaced by a cold, heavy feeling in the pit of her stomach.

Strand claimed to never have seen unequivocal evidence on the existence of ghosts. Lucky him.


End file.
